I was at first a little
sceptical that Bryce Morrison had inserted
into the CD notes an unabashedly extolling
review of this concert. However, as
I lent a cautious ear I could not but
add to his delirious praise. We must
forgive the impoverished live-recording
sound quality but with that to one side
we have here some truly remarkable playing.

The Hungarian pianist
Géza Anda (1921-76) is highly
acclaimed for his interpretations of
Mozart and Bartók. On this occasion
one would be hard pressed to choose
between all four composers: Beethoven,
Brahms, Bartók and Schumann.
Anda’s celebrated musical individuality
– captured in essence by Furtwängler’s
"singing pianist" caricature
– renders even the most challenging
sonorities a lyrical pleasure. Within
a framework of emotional tenderness
and humanity, Anda breathes life across
a generous gamut of musical expression.

Beethoven's early sonata
flows with majestic ease. Anda resists
the reckless spirit such tempestuous
music invites and with the utmost grace
his controlled energy bears a profounder
impact than any amount of virtuosic
posturing.

A wonderful alternation
between apparent nonchalance and impassioned
vigour maintains a vivid and engaging
picture in the opening Presto.
The Lento is remarkable for Anda’s
simple touch that at the same time narrates
a deeply psychological plot. A charming
Trio propositions a sprightlier
touch to the smoothness of its mothering
Menuetto. Inexhaustible resources
of colour and sensations over a grounding
certainty of technical mastery speak
for Anda’s highly personalised and soulful
drama . The dextrous fingerwork in the
Rondo is particularly impressive.

The tremendous orchestral
proportions of Schumann’s études
play just as effortlessly as the Beethoven.
For every étude there is a different
attack, ranging from flying spiccato
(no.3) to forceful staccato (no.4) to
fiery cascading (no.6) to a breathtaking
finale that builds in grandeur and speed
towards a mighty crash. More impressive,
however, is that through all the technical
challenges, Anda’s musicality reigns
supreme.

From Bartók
one might expect a ruder, folk-like
humour but Anda’s sophisticated touch
evens out any coarseness. It is left
to the musical notation to deliver any
crudity, such as the jilted figurations
of the Allegretto and the barbaric
juxtaposition of dense and flighty textures
in the Scherzo. Anda refrains
from caricaturing the Bartókian
idiosyncrasies so that the tranquil
Sostenuto following the mayhem
of a turbulent agitation is genuinely
felt.

And finally for a second
set of variations – this time Brahms’s
spin on Paganini’s famous 24th
Caprice for violin. If the violin be
the instrument of the devil, then the
piano has excellent grounds here for
contesting the myth! Terrifying pianistic
acrobatics stem from the boldly asserted
opening theme and yet Anda makes little
fuss over the relentless work-out. The
theme never fails to sing out triumphantly
from the densities and complexities
of the constantly-morphing textures.
Musicality is complete.

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